


Dean's Choice

by hpjk_addict



Category: Supernatural
Genre: AU, Alpha Castiel/Omega Dean Winchester, Alpha Sam Winchester, Alpha/Omega, Dom/sub, Humiliation, Kinks, M/M, Older Castiel (Supernatural), Prostitution, Spanking, Top Castiel/Bottom Dean Winchester, bratty!dean, dickish!Castiel, omegas are pretty much screwed, some wincest undertones
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-02
Updated: 2020-09-01
Packaged: 2021-03-06 02:21:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 15,209
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25675774
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hpjk_addict/pseuds/hpjk_addict
Summary: Dean is a young bratty omega who needs money to get his brother through college. Castiel is a filthy rich businessman who hires him for two months of unrestrained and uninhibited pleasure.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester, Dean Winchester & Sam Winchester
Comments: 48
Kudos: 170





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I mostly write historical and fantasy stuff. I really don’t know why I thought that I could write a modern-day fic, but I decided to challenge myself and to give it a try anyway. I’m not sure that I’ve done a good job, so I thought I’d post what I’ve got so far to see what you guys have to say about it. I might delete it later on or else finish it… I guess it all depends on whether anyone likes it or not. So, yeah, I’d like to know what you think!

Dean had put a large pot of macaroni and cheese on the dinner table when two bicycles screeched to a halt outside the house with a teeth-gnashing sound of grinding gravel.

His timing was, as always, perfect. Not that anyone would ever care or thank him for that. Least of all two hungry teenage alpha boys, who had burst through the front door and into the kitchen, shoving each other out of the way and calling each other names.

“Knock it off,” said Dean automatically, barely paying attention to their argument (they were always at each other’s throat) as he arranged four plates on the table, knowing full well that neither Sam nor Adam would listen to him.

_“Knock it off,”_ mocked Adam, coming up from behind him and slapping his ass.

Dean pretended not to notice as he began to stir the tomato sauce on the stove. Sam, on the other hand, flew off the handle at once and launched himself at their half-brother.

“Don’t – fucking – touch – him!” he roared, tackling the younger boy to the floor and pummeling him with his fists.

Dean whipped around.

“Get your hands off me!” shrieked Adam, cowering behind his raised arms and kicking back at Sam with his legs.

“Sammy – _dammit_ – leave him alone!”

Sam didn’t seem to hear. The kitchen was tiny, the round table in its centre rickety, and Dean was afraid that their fisticuffs would end with an overturned dinner and a whole lot of mess for him to clean up. So Dean grabbed a sauce-covered spatula and whacked Sam on the head with it. 

“… _every goddamn time_!”

“Ow! Dean! What the – ?”

Dean dropped the spatula back into the saucepan before dragging his sauce-splattered brother away from Adam. “Cool it, man, alright?”

Sam was breathless with fury; now with a distinct smell of garlic and basil. “I’m gonna kill him,” he snarled. “I’m gonna – ”

“You’re gonna go and wash your face and hands,” said Dean sternly, “that’s what you’re gonna do. Both of you. Now.”

“Don’t tell me what to do, _omega_ ,” sneered Adam, getting shakily to his feet. “I don’t have to listen to you.”

Dean raised an eyebrow as calmly as though he didn’t want to wrap his fingers around his half-brother’s scrawny neck and throttle the brat. “No, you don’t. But you will if you want your dinner.”

“You can’t stop me from having dinner! I’ll tell mom!”

“I’m not stopping you from having dinner, Adam,” replied Dean, casually turning his back to him and walking to the sink to clean the spatula. “I’m asking you to go and wash your hands after returning from school on a bike. A reasonable request, no? But if you think that your mother – a nurse – will tell you differently…”

He let his voice trail off. Kate might have let herself go, but she would give Adam a sound thrashing if she found out that he didn’t follow basic personal hygiene rules. A moment later Dean heard Adam stomping away, banging the door shut on his way out.

Dean took a deep breath. Having two teenage alphas living under the same roof when their hormones were raging and their first ruts were right around the corner was asking for trouble. Having an unmated omega living with them was like having a disputed territory: sooner or later it would lead to war. So ever since their father died, Sam and Adam have been fighting for dominance without the elder alpha around to keep them in hand. Dean was at the center of their fight – the grand trophy: whoever gets the omega, becomes the top dog.

Sam had a primary claim, of course. They were brothers; they grew up together. Dean had been raising him, following their mother’s death, since he was four and Sam was just a baby. Adam had no claim at all. Dean and Sam found out that John had another family not long before he got himself drunk and killed in a car crash.

Younger and brattier, a perfect stranger to both brothers and jealous of their closeness, Adam was going out of his way to prove himself the better alpha-in-the-making, turning their life into a living hell in the process. Dean often wished that they had never found out about Kate and Adam at all. At least then they wouldn’t have to pretend to be family and live with them.

Dean started when he felt Sam’s gangly form press against his back, sniffing Dean’s neck and wrapping his arms around his waist. Dean knew that close contact with a familiar omega could soothe a hormone-crazed alpha.

“Sammy, you must stop taking the bait,” he said softly, batting his brother’s hands away when they moved upwards. They would have to talk about that. But now was not the time or place. “Just control your temper when you’re around him. Please. Can you do that?”

Sam mumbled something into the crook of his neck. Dean chose to believe that it was a promise.

“Go wash your hands,” he told him again.

Sam didn’t argue and silently slinked away.

Dean was rummaging in one of the cupboards for what was left of the bread, deciding that stale was better than moldy, when his step-mother shuffled into the room, disheveled, bleary-eyed, and looking distinctly worse for wear. Technically, though, she wasn’t his step-mother, because his father never actually married her.

When Dean saw her for the first time (in the photo that fell out of John’s wallet), he thought that she looked like a washed-out copy of Mary Winchester. His impression didn’t change after he’d met her in person. It intensified. So did his dislike. He supposed that her life with his father and the fact that she often hit the bottle had also taken its toll on her appearance.

“Did I hear boys come back?” she asked, yawning and going straight for the beer in the fridge. About the only item on the grocery list she cared about. Or would care about if she ever bothered to make one. 

But some people still held a rather backward view of what it meant to have an omega in the house and even scentless and useless betas like Kate Milligan would often treat omegas under their care like their personal house-elves. Though, Dean thought bitterly, she would be so lucky to even have a house-elf in that hovel that she called a house.

He nodded. “I sent them off to wash their hands.”

“Did I hear them fight again?” she asked next, taking a long swig of her beer and sitting down; she always resembled half a zombie after her night shifts.

Dean didn’t like her tone of voice or what it implied. He wanted to tell her that she wouldn’t have heard them fight _again_ if her jerk of a son would keep his hands to himself when Sam and Adam ambled into the kitchen and took their seats at the table.

Dean looked critically at the spotted tablecloth as he took the lid off the pot. Kate’s house was a mess and Dean hated that they had to live under her roof and follow her rules.

“Not macaroni and cheese _again_ ,” grumbled Adam, looking down at his plate and stabbing the food with his fork like a moody teenager that he was. “Can’t you cook anything else, Dean? I thought omegas were supposed to be good at that.”

“At making food out of thin air?” asked Dean acidly before he could stop himself. He could show him empty kitchen cupboards if he wanted. “Sorry, kid, they don’t teach us that at school for omegas.”

Adam snorted. “I know what they teach you there and judging by that – ” he twirled some macaroni with sauce on his fork as though Dean had put maggots instead of herbs there “ – it’s definitely not cooking.

Dean glanced at his step-mother, hoping for some kind of support from her, but she didn’t look up from her plate at him. Kate didn’t seem to have an issue with his cooking but neither did she have an issue with her son being rude to him. Dean didn’t want to start another fight at the table, but he wondered why she never tried to stop Adam from spewing insults at him.

Young alphas had to be taught discipline, control, and respect by their parents or else they grew up into thugs and knotheads who thought they could do whatever they wanted. It certainly looked like Adam was already walking that road.

“Better shut up talking about my brother like that,” growled Sam, glaring daggers at him in between shoveling food into his mouth. Sam was always impartial to Dean’s mac’n’cheese. In years following their mother’s death, it became their comfort food and about the only thing Dean could always count on to be around.

“Or what?” challenged Adam, because even after all this time he still didn’t know any better.

“Or I’ll – ”

“Does anyone want extra sauce?” interrupted Dean, scooping the remnants of the sauce from the saucepan and dumping large dollops on their plates without waiting for anyone’s reply. He never put sauce in the same pot as the rest of the dish, preferring to add it later.

He was halfway through his own plate when Kate suddenly spoke up, “We could do with extra money.” Her eyes were unfocused and her voice sounded distant and frail.

“Today’s gonna be a good day for tips,” replied Dean through a large mouthful. “The Roadhouse’s packed Fridays.”

“That’s not the kinda money I mean, Dean.”

Dean caught sight of her son’s smug face and his temper flared.

“I have two jobs as it is,” he said quietly, channeling all his anger into his grip around his fork. “I do the shopping, I cook, I do the laundry, and everything else that needs to be done around your house. What else do you want from me, Kate?”

“Some omegas find more lucrative ways to support their families.”

She didn’t look at him as she said it. Dean hoped that it was because she was ashamed for even suggesting it. His own face flushed with humiliation as though she had slapped him. It suddenly became crystal clear to him what she was banking on when she insisted that they should stay with her after their father’s death. His only value to her was his body and how much he could sell it for.

“Roadhouse’s nothing!” declared Adam, pointing a greasy fork at Dean. “Devil’s Gate is where real money is. I hear they have their omegas wear nothing but horns on their heads and tails with those vibrator thingies right up their butts.” He began to snicker. “I bet you would look right at home there in your Daisy Dukes or those pink panties that you have.”

Dean’s eyes widened. “Did you look through my stuff?”

Adam smirked. Dean could not believe the little shit. Sam just... lost it. Dropping his fork and grabbing some bread from the bread basket, he lunged across the table at Adam and began to stuff his mouth with it. “I told you to shut your mouth about my brother!” he roared.

Plates and forks clattered to the floor. Food flew everywhere. Adam began to choke. Kate screamed. Dean lunged after Sam, grabbing him around the waist and pulling him away from Adam.

“You should keep your brother locked up!” shrieked Kate afterwards, hugging Adam to her chest as though he had been mortally wounded. “He’s feral!”

“Sam’s not the problem!” bellowed Dean, holding Sam tightly by the scruff of his neck. “Your son’s attitude is!”

He shoved Sam towards the door when Kate began to yell at them in her hoarse voice that she didn’t have to take them in when their father died and that they should be more grateful for being allowed to live under her roof.

Dean was cursing under his breath all the way upstairs. _Goddammit!_ He was going to be late for work. Ellen might treat him as family but that didn’t mean that she wouldn’t tear him a new one for not arriving on time. He spared a glance at Sam. His brother was in a pathetic state from his sauce-splattered hair to his rumpled and dirty shirt and jeans.

Dean was both surprised and relieved that he hadn’t got any food on himself during the fray. He had deliberately put on his tightest and whitest tee and his best low-riding jeans and he would seriously hate to lose his advantage. He might not be working the pole at Devil’s Gate, but he could still get decent tips without baring his ass.

“I stink of garlic,” grumbled Sam once they reached their cramped but tidy bedroom. He looked morosely at himself in the mirror and shook his tousled hair. Dean wondered if the kid ever used a comb.

“Grab your bag,” he snapped, taking his phone and car keys from the dresser.

Sam stopped trying to get bits of sauce out of his tangled bangs and looked at him with a frown. “Why?”

Dean glared at him. “Because, apparently, I can’t trust you around Adam without you trying to kill him every time he opens his goddamn mouth.”

Sam looked down at his scuffed sneakers before kicking the bed. “Don’t tell me you don’t want to.”

“Sam, that’s not the point!” Dean took a deep breath and shook his head. “Let’s go. I’ll drop you off at Bobby’s. We’ll stay there for the night.”


	2. Chapter 2

“I’m not running a cheap motel, boy,” grumbled Bobby as they appeared on the doorstep of his house.

Dean grinned cheekily at him as he ushered Sam inside. “Of course not. It’s a first-class establishment that offers three square meals a day, a perfect water pressure in the shower, free wi-fi, and a large library for my brother to raid. Also, rumour has it,” he added with a smirk when Sam was out of earshot, “the owner sometimes pampers himself with an occasional bubble bath and a pedicure.”

Bobby glared at him. “Are you done?” he asked gruffly. “I was under the impression that you had to be someplace else…”

Dean raised his arms in surrender. “I’m already out of your hair, old man!”

“Call me ‘old man’ again and you’ll get intimately acquainted with the business end of my shotgun.”

Dean laughed. “Just telling it as it is! Don’t let him brood too much, OK?” he said seriously just before Bobby was about to close the door. “He’s in a dark place right now,” he explained when Bobby paused and raised an eyebrow. “I worry about him.”

Bobby nodded and squeezed his shoulder. “I’ll take care of him, son. Don’t worry.”

Dean saluted him, got into his car, and drove off. Of course, he couldn’t _not_ worry about his little brother, but at least he knew that he didn’t have to worry about Sam killing Adam while he was away. He could trust Bobby to make sure that Sam didn’t do anything stupid in his absence.

Despite his grumpy attitude, Bobby always had a room waiting for them. In fact, he took it as a personal insult that they chose to live with Kate and Adam after John’s death. At the time Dean stupidly believed his step-mother’s assurances that his father wouldn’t want their ‘family’ to fall apart. Now he knew better.

He was only twenty minutes late for work. The place wasn’t swamped with customers yet, though a few regulars were already sipping beers at the bar.

“Look who decided to show up,” Jo greeted him, sailing past him with a shit-eating grin and a heavy-laden tray.

Dean smirked. “I’ve decided to give you a head start, shortstuff,” he told her when she had patted the back pocket of her jeans with a smirk. “I bet I’ll catch up with you in no time,” he told her, grabbing a tray and making a beeline for a couple that had just taken one of the booths.

“You’re on!” she called after him. “I’ll whip your ass, Winchester!”

Dean grinned and wiggled his bottom in reply. Someone whistled. Jo was like a sister to him and waiting on tables was much more fun when they were competing against each other over who got better tips by the time The Roadhouse closed for the night.

The first part of the evening was mostly family-friendly with families and couples swarming the place for a relaxed night out at the end of the week and a signature taste of Ellen’s famous burgers and pies. Many of them were regulars and generous with their tips, especially after a few bottles of home-made wine that Dean and Jo so skillfully advertised to them.

Dean, though, was mostly looking forward to the second part of the evening. That’s when the lights around the place dimmed and the crowd became more diverse and rowdy. Also, the drinks became more expensive and adventurous. That’s when his ass came into play as much as his charming smile as he flirted with girls and guys alike.

He could smell alphas’ desire for him a mile away and use it to his advantage without hating himself in the morning for making his body and biology do the work. The Roadhouse’s clientele was on the tame side in comparison with those who frequented Devil’s Gate and any sleazeball who wandered there soon learned that Ellen wasn’t only an excellent cook but also an excellent shot.

There were certain unspoken rules that had to be followed or else the consequences faced. Dean felt quite safe even when the comments and the propositions became more lewd and blatant. He couldn’t complain: they were directly proportional to the size of his growing tips.

But as the night wore on, Dean decided that this was no way to save up enough money to provide Sammy with a better life or to get him through college, no matter how much fun Dean had while doing it. Kate was right. There were much more lucrative ways for omegas to financially support their families. And while he would never do it for her or her son, there was literally nothing that Dean wouldn’t do for Sam.

*

Dean wasn’t joking when he mentioned perfect water pressure. Having found the spare key under the ledge of the window at the back, he quietly entered the sleeping house, climbed the stairs to the second floor, and slipped into the bathroom, where he could wash and relax under a strong stream of hot water after a busy night.

Kate’s house didn’t even have that. Dean had to take his showers at the garage, where he worked during the first part of the day, if he didn’t want to stink of motor oil or to be told that he wasted too much hot water. He had grabbed a change of clothes from the duffel bag that he kept in the trunk of the car, almost as though he expected to take flight at any moment.

Dean wistfully recalled the years after their mother’s death when they practically lived in the car, moving from place to place, staying at cheap motels, eating crappy food, waiting for their father to return, cuddled together in front of the telly or with a book. Sam loved when Dean read to him, doing voices and stuff. Life was simple – basic – back then.

Still, as much as Dean sometimes wanted to go back to that nomadic lifestyle (whenever life with their step-mother and half-brother became unbearable) he couldn’t just take the car and drive wherever the road would take him with his brother in tow. Sam needed a place to stay; a stable home; a normal life. He had to finish school and go to college. He was quite bookish when he wasn’t trying to kill Adam.

There was, of course, another thing that made travelling together now, just the two of them, potentially problematic. Dean knew how his brother felt about him. It was natural for an alpha to grow particularly attached to an omega who raised him. They always lived in each other’s pocket and Dean always took care of him. He knew that Sam had grown too dependent on him but weaning him away when they shared a small room, where their scents mingled until you could not tell one from the other and their bodies were constantly in close contact, was impossible. Sam was going through the most turbulent stage of his life on his way to becoming a young alpha: he was angry and confused and instinctively focused all of his thoughts and urges on Dean.

He would grow out of it eventually.

As Dean slipped under the covers that night it wasn’t long before Sam crept into bed with him, wrapping his long arms around him and burying his face in the crook of his neck. Dean pushed his hand through Sam’s mussed hair, sleepily saying, “We should talk about it, Sammy.”

“Talk ‘bout what?”

“We have to stop doing this. You’re not a child anymore.”

“Does it matter? You’re my omega.”

“I’m your omega brother, Sammy. There’s a difference.”

“I don’t care.”

“I do.” Dean’s fingers got stuck in the tangled mess, thankfully tomato-sauce-free. “Did I never teach you to brush your hair?” he asked.

But Sam was already asleep.

Absent-mindedly, Dean continued to stroke his brother’s hair, Sam’s head nestled on Dean’s chest. Though he was tired and had to be up early in the morning, sleep eluded him. He was thinking hard. Like many omegas with younger siblings, he had been thrust into the position of a caretaker at a very young age, and though he was only nineteen now he felt much older. His life was a never-ending succession of duties, things to do, people to please. He was always rushing between work and home, barely stopping to think about what he wanted from life.

Dean wondered what it would be like to have a real alpha and to be taken care of for a change.

He’d never had time to start something with one of the alphas that he met. He’d never had more than a handjob or a blowjob or a groping session in the back alley during a short break at work with one of them. Though he’d experimented with a few beta girls that he’d had, notably Rhonda Hurley and Lisa Braeden, he’d never been in a relationship with an alpha that wasn’t his brother. He was afraid that starting one now would be a problem unless he directed Sam’s attention elsewhere. He just didn’t want to end up mated to a fifteen-year-old alpha. He would end up knocked up and they would have to live on welfare until Sam finished school and got a job.

Dean pushed that thought away. It would only ruin their relationship and lives. Sam would grow out of his childhood attachment and would resent (maybe even hate) him for keeping him selfishly to himself instead of pushing him away when he had to.

Dean had to let him go. He also had to provide him with a future. _Some omegas find more lucrative ways to support their families._ Dean sighed. The room had become lighter. Sam was sniffling softly on his chest just like he did when he was a baby.

With perfect clarity just like a clear streak of grey light filtering through the window he knew what he had to do. Devil’s Gate, after all, wasn’t the only place where the real money was.


	3. Chapter 3

Dean asked Bobby to give him a day off. Bobby was surprised. Dean was one of the few at the garage who always worked on the weekends.

“I know that look, boy. What are you thinking of doing?” he asked, looking suspiciously at him.

They were having breakfast in the kitchen downstairs. Sam was still sleeping.

“Don’t worry about it,” replied Dean dismissively, pretending to be more interested in his coffee. It was a damn good coffee. Not that cheap crap that Kate kept.

“You’re planning on doing something stupid, aren’t you?” insisted Bobby.

“I’m planning on making sure that my brother wants for nothing.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing for you to worry about,” repeated Dean.

“You’re as stubborn as your father,” grunted Bobby angrily. “He was too proud to ask for help too.”

“But I’m asking!” Dean raised an eyebrow as he stood up and moved towards the door. “I’m asking you to help me look after Sammy. Tell him that I’m at the garage. I don’t want him to worry.”

“Worry ‘bout what?”

Sam entered the kitchen, yawning and rubbing his eyes.

“Good-morning, sunshine!” Dean grinned and stroked his brother’s back when Sam burrowed his head into his shoulder, barely awake. “I was just telling Bobby that you don’t have to worry about going back to Kate’s house,” he said. “We’ll be staying with Bobby for a while.”

Sam nodded against his shoulder. “Hey, don’t fall asleep on me, Sasquatch,” warned Dean, pushing him lightly away. At only fifteen Sam was already towering over him. “Bobby made pancakes and bacon for breakfast.”

Sam shuffled towards the table. “When will you be back?” he asked, pouring himself a glass of orange juice.

“Today,” replied Dean.

Sam rolled his eyes. “Very funny.”

“Don’t ask stupid questions then.”

“It’s not a stupid question to know when you’ll be back.”

“Fine. I’ll be back when I’ll be back. Happy?”

“No.”

“Watch it!” barked Bobby when Sam grabbed a roll from a plate and made to throw it at Dean. “What do you think you’re doing, boy?!”

Using the distraction, Dean smirked and slipped out of the house as Bobby started chewing Sam out for throwing around food.

But he wasn’t smirking or smiling or feeling particularly cheeky or cheerful a few minutes later when he put the keys in the ignition and started the car. His hands gripped the steering wheel and his insides clenched unpleasantly at the thought of going back to what was commonly referred to as The Agency.

It was situated in one of those nondescript buildings in one of the side streets downtown that always managed to stay off the radar. There was nothing to indicate what was situated there. And with a good reason. But Dean remembered the location as though he was there only yesterday. The outside was just brown brick – the inside as lavish as a palace.

Dean walked along the carpeted floor, rubbing his sweaty hands against his jeans and avoiding looking at his reflection in gilded mirrors that decorated the walls, telling himself that it was worth it. That just a few jobs here would guarantee a life of ease and comfort for his brother. It didn’t help.

“Good morning, sir! Welcome to Omega Employment Agency! Do you have an appointment?” asked a perky brunette at the reception.

Dean felt an instant urge to shield his eyes against the whiteness of her teeth. Instead, he put on a forced smile and shook his head.

“Do you wish to make an appointment?” she asked, smiling blindingly at him. “Mr Crowley is a very busy man.”

“I just bet,” muttered Dean under his breath.

“Sir?”

Dean shook his head again. “Tell him that Dean Winchester is here,” he said, giving her a blinding smile of his own.

“Is he expecting you?”

“In a manner of speaking. Don’t bother,” he added when she began to type his name in. “My – er – appointment is of a long-standing kind. You won’t find my name within recent entries.”

“I’m afraid I can’t – ”

He leaned forward and gave her his most charming smile. “Please?”

“I will be in so much trouble,” she giggled, pressing a button on the intercom.

She had barely finished saying Dean’s name when the door behind her burst open, making her scream.

“Well, I’ll be damned!” declared a short portly man, stepping into the hall with an air of a compere who had just found his star act. He was wearing an immaculate black suit and a cunning grin.

“Hello, Crowley,” said Dean unenthusiastically. “I’m pretty sure that you already are.”

Crowley chuckled and wagged his finger at him. “I knew I’d see you again, Dean. Knew you’d be back! Didn’t I tell you? Didn’t I?”

Dean rolled his eyes. “What do you want? A stuffed bear?” he asked snappishly before he could bite his tongue and remind himself that he was there to get a job and that sarcasm wasn’t the best way to carry on.

Thankfully, Crowley found his attitude amusing rather than off-putting (“Ah… yes… you have always had a fiery spirit!”) and invited him into his office.

Dean didn’t beat about the bush.

“I need money,” he said as soon as he took a seat in front of Crowley’s enormous desk of polished wood.

Crowley raised an eyebrow. “Did you try taking out a loan? Do you want directions to the nearest bank?”

“I need the kinda money omegas can make through your agency. We both know the type of _employment_ you provide, Crowley.”

“Might I remind you, Dean, that my _perfectly respectable_ agency provides _entirely legal_ services.”

“Only because we live in a messed-up world where being a glorified pimp and whoring out omegas as young as twelve is considered legal.”

“As long as their parents or guardians – ”

But at the sight of Dean’s clenched jaw and thunderous expression Crowley changed tack.

“You are as mouthy as I remember you,” he said instead.

“It’s my specialty.”

Crowley looked thoughtfully at him. “How much money are we talking about?”

“Enough to put my younger brother through college.”

Crowley looked momentarily surprised. Then chuckled. “It looks like I placed my bet on the wrong horse. I counted on the father to make sure you cooperated, but now I see that I should have used the brother instead. I kept wondering where I went wrong with you.”

Dean frowned. He didn’t like remembering that when he was fourteen his father’s drinking and money problems had become so bad that he decided to rectify the latter (at least) by finding him a very specific type of job through Crowley’s agency.

“I would hazard a guess,” he said as a sour taste of memories exploded in his mouth, “it was when you sent a fourteen-year-old terrified omega to service a middle-aged creep.”

“I remember.” Crowley nodded, looking reminiscent. “I ended up with a particularly enraged alpha on my hands. He swore to put an end to my agency until I agreed to supply him with free omegas for a year. Remind me, Dean. Did you try to bite off his dick before running out on him?”

“My memory is fuzzy,” deadpanned Dean.

Crowley hummed under his breath.

Dean was getting tired of playing this game.

“Look, Crowley, do you have something for me or not?” he snapped, feeling rattled.

Crowley’s gaze suddenly sharpened and he began to study him with a professional interest.

“You’ve changed your hairstyle. It looks much more... ”

“Manly?” asked Dean, raising an eyebrow and smoothing his short-cropped hair forward. “Did you think I would keep those bangs that made me look like a girl?”

Crowley clucked his tongue. “Dean, pumpkin, do you think you will ever be anything but Daddy’s little girl? The same pouty mouth, the same mile-long eyelashes, the same delicate features, not to mention all these delectable freckles…”

Dean flushed. “Shut up, Crowley.”

“Have you been working out?”

“I have been working.”

“Hmm… You look somewhat brawny now. Most alphas prefer omegas who look – ”

“Easy to push around. Yeah.” Dean shrugged. “Sorry.” He didn’t sound sorry.

“No matter.” Crowley made a waving motion with his hand. “It is easily remedied.”

Dean sat up straight at his words. “The hell are you talking about? I thought body modifications were illegal. Didn’t they pass a law some years ago that banned all – ”

“ -- surgical modifications.” Crowley nodded. “So they did. However, they left, quite conveniently if you ask me, a loophole (“Imagine that!” snorted Dean) that allows to introduce modifications through other means. Notably injections and pills. Hormone-based treatments. Also certain… er… equipment.”

“Fan-freaking-tastic,” muttered Dean darkly.

“They take longer to take effect and wear off with time. For the most part, I believe. Quite harmless. So I hear.”

“And let me guess: completely legal whether omegas want to have their bodies modified or not.”

“Naturally. Dean, darling, please refrain from desecrating a perfectly innocent Chippendale you’re sitting in. It is an antique armchair, you know. Cost me an arm and a leg to acquire, considering its history and value, and (as far as I know) it has done nothing to you whatsoever to be treated with such ferocity.”

Dean took a deep breath and stopped gripping the wooden armrests that had begun to creak under the force he’d been unwittingly applying. But the fact that not even law (that had been passed with a great deal of pomp and publicity specifically to ensure that omegas would have certain control over their bodies) could protect omegas from having their bodies modified against their will was so infuriating he could barely contain himself.

“Now then!” exclaimed Crowley. “Shall we get down to business?”

“About time,” grumbled Dean.

“Quite.” Crowley steepled his fingers together and looked above them at Dean. Dean refrained from rolling his eyes at his dramatic manner, telling himself that now wasn’t the time to aggravate him with his cheeky attitude. “I must say that it is almost providential that you have come today. We have a new client and his request for an omega is very specific and very urgent. I was just looking through our database for a suitable omega when you showed up as though in answers to my – ”

“ – surely not prayers, Crowley?” interrupted Dean before he could stop himself.

“It is high time someone put that mouth of yours to good use, Dean.”

Dean narrowed his eyes. He hated being patronized and told that omegas must be seen and not heard.

“I have never worked with this alpha before,” continued Crowley. “But I have heard of him. He contacted us through an acquaintance that often makes use of our services. He comes from a large and influential family (I shall not be revealing the name of just yet – I hope you understand – not until we sign the contract and the non-disclosure clause – a mere precaution) and heads one of the bigger departments in his family’s company. He is looking for a live-in omega that will accompany him to his villa for the initial time period of two months. He is very wealthy and the money he offers is... really good.”

Dean’s heart was pounding in his chest. “A live-in omega?” he asked, his mouth suddenly dry. “I can’t go and live with some alpha, Crowley. I… my brother... I can’t take care of him if I’m not there!”

Crowley raised an eyebrow.

“I was under the impression that you needed the money. Two months with him will cover all your brother’s college expenses.”

Dean’s eyes widened. “What will I have to do?” he asked cautiously.

“His list of requirements is quite extensive. However, considering the money that he is offering…”

Crowley opened the top drawer of his desk and took out –

“A scroll, Crowley, _really_?” asked Dean, shaking his head in exasperation as he snatched a rolled-up sheet of yellowish paper bound with a dark red ribbon from him. “Not overdramatic _at all_ ,” he muttered under his breath.

Dean untied the ribbon and unwound the scroll with a look of disgust. He looked through the list of requirements and whistled. “Looks like this alpha is looking for a maid in the living-room, a cook in the kitchen, and a whore in the bedroom kinda thing.”

“Is there a problem with that?” asked Crowley.

“I think he needs to find himself a mate,” replied Dean with a shrug. “That would solve his problem.”

Crowley clasped his hands together. “Dear me,” he said sarcastically; “I did not realize that you were a qualified specialist in the field of psychoanalysis.”

Dean scowled at him. He put the scroll on the desk and watched as it rolled back together again. He hoped that Crowley wouldn’t see how agitated he was. At least, he thought, this alpha couldn’t be too old, considering what kind of kinky shit he was into. Maybe he could even convince him to let him wear a blindfold at all times if he turned out to be too ugly to look at… Not that he could be worse looking than that ugly old fart he ran away from when he was fourteen.

Crowley was looking expectantly at him, one of his shiny low-heeled shoes tapping a rhythm of impatience against the polished floor.

“Dean, darling, I need your positive answer some time before the end of this century. I have enough omegas in my employ to choose from, of course. However, I won’t deny that you are the prettiest. I have a feeling that my new client will appreciate my efforts in procuring such a particularly fine specimen.”

Dean licked his lips. He was becoming jittery every time Crowley mentioned his new client. If he said ‘yes’ now, he would agree to become one of Crowley’s omega whores. One of his cash cows. But he had known before coming here what his meeting with Crowley would mean; what it would lead to. No one was forcing him this time around. He came willingly and fully understanding the implications of asking for a job here.

He thought about Sammy’s scuffed sneakers, ratty T-shirts, baggy jeans. He thought about his constantly underfed look and the fact that they were virtually homeless.

Dean knew what he had to do.

“Fine,” he said through greeted teeth. “I’m in.”

“Excellent!” crowed Crowley in ecstasy.

The rest of the day was spent undergoing various tests to provide proof that he was clean and healthy, getting his black-and-white nudes taken for the agency’s portfolio, and getting thoroughly groomed for his meeting with the mysterious alpha the next day.


	4. Chapter 4

Telling Sam that he was leaving for two months because he found a well-paid job without going into specifics of what the job actually entailed or spilling any incriminating details was the hardest part. Dean had come up with some vague story about bumping into some guys he knew back at school, who needed a fourth to do the job and, tempted by the money each one of them would receive once it was done, agreed to join them without a second thought. Thankfully, Sam’s curiosity about the job itself paled in comparison with what he thought and felt about Dean leaving.

He threw the worst temper tantrum Dean could ever remember, raging and storming and chucking things across the room, including Dean himself. Pressed against the wall with Sam towering over him, snarling and breathing furiously in his face like some deranged alpha of the past, it took all of Dean’s power over him to convince him to calm down. He had been tentatively caressing his brother’s cheek, murmuring some soothing nonsense, when Sam’s fury finally broke and shame and remorse flooded him.

By the time he’d let go of Dean, tears were streaming from his eyes and he was begging him to forgive him. Dean pulled him in a tight embrace and cradled his disheveled head on his shoulder. He had expected Sam to be upset, even angry, but he had been taken aback by the sheer strength and violence his tantrum took. The side of his face Sam had rammed his fist into began to hurt and would definitely bruise if he didn’t get to an ice pack in time. His neck, where Sam had held him pinned, felt sore.

Sam was sobbing and mumbling “forgive me, forgive me, forgive me”, though Dean wasn’t a hundred percent sure that he wasn’t saying “don’t leave me, don’t leave me, don’t leave me”, his words slurred and muffled by the fabric of Dean’s soaked shirt.

“Just don’t hit me again, OK?” said Dean, rubbing Sam’s back in circles as though he was a small child. Sam nodded and wrapped his long arms around him with so much force Dean grunted in sympathy for his ribs.

After witnessing Sam’s outburst, Dean knew that he was doing the right thing by leaving and putting some distance between them. They needed to spend more time away from each other and in the company of other people. Sam needed to learn to understand and control his alpha instincts without his omega brother around to affect them and drive him crazy with his scent. Perhaps, thought Dean, once he was out of the picture, Sam would actually look around and notice other omegas or betas, and maybe even find someone his own age to fool around with.

They fell asleep together that night. Sam had been clinging to Dean all evening, his eyes tracking his every move, jumping up like an overeager Labrador and following him around whenever he left the room. Dean put his foot down when Sam attempted to follow him into the shower, but when he entered their bedroom and found Sam already curled on his bed, Dean didn’t have the heart to kick him out. He didn’t want to argue on the eve of his departure or deny his little brother the comfort he was so desperately seeking before their separation. Dean didn’t let himself think about how scared he was of what was to come next and how much he needed his brother’s comfort too.

*

Crowley said that transportation would be arranged for him, so there was no point taking his car. He was meeting the alpha in one of the newest and tallest buildings downtown that formed a conglomerate and looked quite intimidating in their uniform shiny grey sleekness as they surged upwards, their spired tops disappearing in the dazzling haze of summer sun. Dean had checked and double-checked the directions to make sure that he got the right building of Angelz Corp and didn’t mistakenly offer his services to someone else. He let out a short bark of nervous laughter at the thought.

The inside of the building was even more intimidating than the outside, instantly swallowing him within an enormous dome-shaped entrance hall made of glass and metal, flooded with light. He felt like he had entered a different world that made even Bobby’s house look like a dump. There were rumors that Angelz Corp, employing thousands, had their finger in every pie and were behind pretty much everything going on in the country. Looking around at the interior that screamed money and power, Dean didn’t have any doubt that the rumors were true.

He felt distinctly underdressed in a pair of ripped jeans and a tight white tee with an old duffel bag over his shoulder in a sea of grey-suited men and women who moved with gleaming tablets in their hands and robotic-like purposefulness as though an army of hi-tech ants. Dean shivered in the cool air and looked about himself with his mouth hanging open. There were countless elevators around the hall and just as many escalators going upwards and downwards in intricate spirals.

Dean checked Crowley’s text again, pocketed his phone, found the number of the elevator he had been instructed to take, and pressed the button. He looked surreptitiously around himself while waiting for it to arrive and was relieved that no one was looking at him. He stood out like a sore thumb in this strangely detached chrome-like world and he would prefer to avoid awkward questions. Not that he wouldn’t find something cheeky to answer if anyone asked him about his business there. Of course, he would then risk being escorted out of the building, but he was reasonably confident that he could outrun any guard they had on site.

Still, he was relieved when the elevator finally arrived. He stepped swiftly inside, his heart hammering in his chest. It was a long ride. Dean wondered how many floors there were and why he hadn’t thought to check before entombing himself within an eerily silent elevator car.

At long last the elevator came to a halt and the doors slid open just as noiselessly. It had brought him to a penthouse. Dean stepped outside, his boots sinking slightly into the lush carpet underneath his feet. “Well, that’s that,” he told himself. “No turning back now.”

He was standing in a wide airy space with arched windows, marble mantelpieces, and heavy gilded mirrors. Feeling diminished by their size and grandeur. There were plush sofas and easy chairs, a glass coffee table and a polished mahogany desk, ginormous flat screens and paintings with fluffy silver-lined clouds and fat baby angels shooting arrows. It looked very expensive and very impersonal. No framed photos or other items of personal nature, no pieces of furniture or clothing out of place, nothing.

The scent hit him first, making him reel backward as though he had hit an invisible wall.

“Dude, what the hell?!” he yelled. “Never heard of scent blockers?”

“You are mistaken,” replied a low slow gravelly voice a moment ahead of its owner’s appearance in Dean’s line of vision. “I have heard of them. However, I do not find them desirable or necessary to wear in my own apartments.”

The alpha stopped some feet away from him and gave Dean a squinting narrow-eyed look. He was wearing a dark blue suit, a white shirt, and a dark blue tie. He was well-built, dark-haired, and had very blue eyes. Dean was gaping at him partly from indignation but mostly from an unexpected wave of attraction that had crashed over him. Somehow he didn’t imagine that any alpha who needed to resort to such services as he provided could be so hot. Even if he looked like he was at least thirty.

“Crowley didn’t lie about your beauty, Dean,” said the alpha with approval. “Nor did he lie about your temper or attitude.”

He took a seat in one of the armchairs. He appeared as detached and impersonal as the room and it set Dean’s teeth on edge.

“Undress.”

Dean snapped his mouth shut and stared at him. No way. He wasn’t ready for full frontal just yet!

“I thought I spoke plainly enough. No?” asked the alpha, breaking the long silence that followed.

Dean nodded. Or was he supposed to shake his head? The powerful, tempting, seductive scent emanating from the alpha was making him slow on the uptake.

“Then I don’t see what it is about my request that you find so difficult to comprehend. I was under the impression that omegas of your employ were intimately acquainted with the meaning of the word ‘undress’. I wonder. Perhaps, it is too refined a word for _you_? Maybe I should have used the word ‘strip’ instead? Is it more understandable now?”

Dean turned red. “I’m not a fucking idiot,” he growled.

“I’m glad to hear it. Now…” The narrow-eyed look returned. Dean felt a shiver run down his spine. He was surprised he hadn’t started leaking yet. “I want you to show me that you can follow simple instructions. I didn’t think that I would have to start discipline so soon into our interaction or I would have brought my cane.”

Dean’s ass clenched, though whether in fear or anticipation he couldn’t tell. He pointed dumbly at the elevator doors.

“Ah, I see,” said the alpha. “You are afraid that someone will make an entrance and surprise you in the act of presenting yourself to me.”

“Well – yeah!” Dean blurted out. Contrary to his earlier words, he actually felt himself like an idiot. What on earth was wrong with him? A whiff of alpha scent hit him in the face and his brain turned to mush?

“Let me put your mind at ease then,” continued the alpha. “No one comes here without prior appointment or announcement or permission. These are my private quarters.”

“So there’s no one else here?” asked Dean, looking around.

The alpha looked around too. “Should there be?”

Dean shrugged. “What about your secretary or something?” he asked. “You look like the type to have a secretary.”

The alpha nodded, smiling like a shark. “You are very astute. I do have a secretary. But she knows better than to disturb me in my personal quarters,” he said in a hard voice. “Now then,” he snapped, “if you are quite done with the interrogation, may we proceed to the part I am paying you for?”

Dean swallowed and nodded. He dropped his duffel bag onto the carpeted floor and roughly pulled his shirt over his head. He didn’t know why his face was on fire when he caught the alpha’s appraising gaze on his bare torso. He wasn’t ashamed of his body and was no stranger to stripping. He loved skinny-dipping and never had a problem stripping in front of his many hook-ups. So why did this alpha with his bend-me-over-the-coffee-table-and-breed-me-right-here-and-now scent make him feel so insecure?

Stalling for time, Dean neatly folded his T-shirt and put it on the armrest of the nearest sofa. He had started to unbutton his jeans when he was struck by a sudden thought. His hand stilled almost teasingly in the process.

“I don’t know your name,” he said.

“My oversight, Dean. Of course I should have introduced myself before asking you to undress.” The dark-haired alpha bowed his head. Dean’s eyes narrowed at the mocking tone. “My name is Castiel.”

Dean blinked. The alpha had spoken with a slight lilt on the second syllable, making the name sound foreign. _Castiel._ What kind of name was that, anyway? Dean didn’t trust himself to repeat it just yet without stumbling over it. Maybe he could call him Cas?

“That’s – er – an – ”

“ – unusual name?” Castiel raised an eyebrow. “Quite. Are we done with the pleasantries and the ceremonies, Dean? I wasn’t aware that playing hard to get was part of the package I was paying for. I’m into certain types of roleplay. Though I must say that Victorian England is not – let me see – my cup of tea.” He smirked. “And as for your virtue – well – I imagine it is pretty much non-existent.”

Dean gritted his teeth against the offensive words and the icy cold stare directed at him. “That’s right,” he told himself, “it’s just like stepping into cold water. Just take it all off in one go.”

He chucked off his boots, finished unbuttoning his jeans, and pulled them off along with his boxers. He didn’t look at the alpha (so maybe he had imagined a barely audible hitch of breath), but he noticed that his own hands shook when he folded his jeans and put them on top of his T-shirt.

Taking a deep breath, he straightened his back and stood before the alpha in all his naked glory.

“Very nice…” murmured Castiel, running his gaze up and down Dean’s body. “Good to know that Crowley was telling the truth. I was expecting some catch after all. Turn around.” Castiel hummed in contentment. “Excellent. Now. Come closer.”

Dean turned back and crossed the short distance between them. He had barely had time to wonder what would happen next when Castiel wrapped a hand around his cock and squeezed. Dean yelped and turned even redder. Castiel smirked as he palmed him, teasing the slit. His grip was firm, assured, authoritative. As his movements sped up, Dean’s cock grew hard in his hand and his balls began to tighten. His thighs were trembling and he was moving back and forth, guided by the alpha’s hand. His breathing grew erratic and a litany of “more, more, more” trembled on his lips. Just a little bit more…

Suddenly Castiel changed his grasp and gripped the base of his cock. Dean felt as though his air supply had been cut off. The alpha tugged Dean closer, making him hiss and stumble in his iron grip.

“There will be some rules, of course,” he said softly. “For instance, you will not come or pleasure yourself unless I give my permission.”

He paused, expecting an answer. Dean nodded; it was safer than to speak and choke on his own saliva.

“I’m sure you know that I’m quite adventurous and versatile when it comes to sexual practices,” he continued as simply as though they were discussing the weather. “I’m fond of many different things and I’m always seeking new experiences. However, I’m not an unreasonable man. I would like for our cooperation to be productive and pleasurable for both of us. Unfortunately, I don’t read minds. So if you find yourself unable to comply with my requests, I must ask you to tell me so.”

He suddenly let go of Dean’s cock and patted his lap. “Straddle me.” 

Dean did as he was told. He doubted that he could disobey, considering the alpha’s thrall over him. He decided that it was better that way: not being responsible for his own actions.

“Put your hands on my shoulders to steady yourself,” ordered the alpha.

He had a soothing presence, Dean decided; commanding but soothing.

“It won’t last,” said Castiel, somehow guessing what Dean was thinking about despite assuring him that he didn’t read minds. He ran a finger across Dean’s cheek and down his chest, teasing his nipples in passing, lightly caressing his stomach. “Once you get used to my presence, you will become resistant to my scent. Not immune, of course. At least not entirely. But you will be able to fight me and display your temper and cheekiness again.” He smiled. “You wonder how I know. Quite simple. Your eyes gave you away. They are quite glazed. Forgive me. I’m afraid it was necessary. Call it a shock therapy if you will. I had to expose you to its full blast from the outset. Trust me, Dean, this way was better than to feed you small helpings until you were completely under my control.” He once again touched Dean’s face. “The black-and-white photos did not give justice to the brilliance of your eyes or to the number of freckles you appear to have. I will enjoy studying and kissing them.”

“Fucking hell,” breathed out Dean as though coming up for air, “you like the sound of your own voice, don’t you?”

Castiel chuckled. “I see you have already recovered your vibrant spirit and colourful vocabulary. Funny you should mention my voice. I believe I have been told that it is quite – ah – sexy.”

Dean rolled his eyes but sucked in a loud breath when Castiel casually flicked the tip of his cock. He motioned for Dean to stand up. Dean instantly removed himself from his lap, trying not to be embarrassed by his eagerly bobbing cock. Something told him that he wouldn’t get to come anytime soon.

“Get dressed,” commanded Castiel as he got to his feet. “But don’t bother with the underwear. You won’t be needing any from now on. Unless,” he added almost as an afterthought, “specifically requested.”

Dean scrambled to put on his clothes as fast as he could. He had just finished pulling on his boots when Castiel ordered him to follow him and, without giving him so much as a chance to blink, briskly strode towards the elevator, briefcase in hand. Dean had a distinct impression that Castiel would have left without him if he had dawdled long enough for the doors to slide shut.

Stepping swiftly inside and looking sideways at the weirdest alpha he had ever met, Dean wondered (not for the first time that morning) what the hell he had got himself into.


	5. Chapter 5

A car was waiting for them in the underground parking lot. Dean whistled as he studied the gleaming beauty before him. It looked brand new or at least as though it had never left the safe environment and pampered existence of a showroom before.

In his world cars like that didn’t exist. They came in various states of wear and tear to be fixed over and over again before finally running their last mile and ending up a useless piece of junk in the scrapyard.

Dean liked tinkering with old cars, liked the challenge of getting them back into shape, to work the magic, to make the impossible, but he had to admit that there was nothing quite like a new thing.

A driver opened the doors for them.

Dean smirked as he slipped inside. “I could get used to _Pretty Woman_ treatment,” he said, chuckling.

Castiel gave him a puzzled look. “I don’t understand that reference,” he said, opening his briefcase.

“Dude, seriously?”

The car had smoothly glided out of the parking lot and into bright sunlight. Dean could barely feel it moving underneath him.

“We’ll be at the villa in three hours,” said the alpha, looking at his watch. “I need to do some work before then. I suggest you employ yourself with something or other in the meantime. I’ll need peace and quiet. No talking will be required.”

He pointed his chin at the duffel bag Dean had dropped at his feet. “I don’t suppose you happen to have a book in there somewhere to occupy you?”

“Imagine that! I completely forgot to pack the complete works of Tolstoy I usually keep on my nightstand with me,” replied Dean, rolling his eyes. He should have known that this was one of those alphas who believed that omegas should be seen but not heard.

Castiel was squinting at him as though he couldn’t quite tell whether Dean was joking or not. Dean snorted. He had to admit that looking at him now he found the alpha a lot less intimidating; a lot less likely to cane him for disobedience.

He looked at the stack of papers and a pencil Castiel had taken out.

“A big shot like you doesn’t have his own shiny iPad or laptop?” he asked, shaking his head.

“I prefer to work with papers,” replied Castiel stiffly.

“Going old school.” Dean nodded. “I get that.”

“I’m glad you do.”

“My brother gives me shit ‘cause I still listen to cassette tapes.”

“Fascinating. Now be quiet. I need to finish reading and responding to this report before our arrival.”

“Why?”

Castiel pinched the bridge of his nose. “Because once we arrive, I’ll have my hands full with a big-mouthed omega who doesn’t know when to keep his big mouth shut.”

“I thought that’s what you hired me for,” said Dean, looking innocently at him. “My big mouth and all kinds of handfuls… Fine! Fine! I’m shutting up now!” he exclaimed, raising his hands up when the alpha glared daggers at him.

Dean leaned further back against the leather seat, feeling restless and unconsciously thinking back to those years on the road when the backseat of the car was his home. He preferred driving to riding now and cursed himself for not taking his own car and asking for directions instead. He had no idea at all where they were going.

He thought about asking Castiel about their destination but one look at the alpha told him that it wasn’t a good idea at the time. Mainly because the pencil that was now pressed between his pursed lips as he studied some long-ass document looked extremely sharp. Dean snorted under his breath imagining himself with an eye patch. He’d always had a thing for pirates. He was sure he could pull it off, but he didn’t want to risk it all the same.

He was still half-hard; still feeling the ghost of the alpha’s firm grip around his dick as though he had branded it with the imprint of his fingers. His current situation was made even more uncomfortable by the coarse fabric of his jeans brushing against his naked flesh whenever he moved, inviting him to rub his erection against the uneven seam. Dean actually expected the alpha to initiate some kind of contact once they were in the car, but his present aloofness and disinterest suggested otherwise.

Dean felt like beating his head against something with frustration but resisted the temptation to palm himself through his jeans, remembering one of the alpha’s rules. He wondered what other rules there would be. He was oddly turned on by the concept. He grew up following his father’s orders and while it was in his nature to obey and to please there was always a part of him that craved to disobey, to be punished. Unfortunately, thinking about Castiel bending him over his knee, pulling off his jeans, and slapping his ass raw didn’t help with his growing problem.

He took out his phone. There was a string of angry messages from Jo, telling him in no uncertain terms what she thought about him for bailing out on her. Dean cringed. So Ellen must have told her. Dean rubbed the back of his neck as though after one of Ellen’s well-aimed slaps on the side of his head. He felt guilty and ashamed. He knew he should have told them both in person instead of opting to send a cryptic message to Ellen around midnight, but there had been no time to bow out in style, anyway. He would just have to grovel when he returned, especially if things with Castiel didn’t work out.

He texted Sam to tell him that he’d already met up with the guys and that they were on their way. He decided that he’d have to come up with a more plausible lie at some point but he didn’t want to think about it at the moment. He could see that his brother had read the message and waited for him to reply and when he didn’t (probably still sulking like a little bitch) he started bombarding him with memes and emojis until Sam finally replied with a whole thread of eye-rolling gifs.

The teen’s mood considerably improved only after he’d texted Dean a very long list of less-than-flattering names that Bobby had been calling him for leaving him short-handed at the garage since early morning, no doubt channeling his own frustration with him into each one of them. But once he’d got that off his chest, he couldn’t shut up talking about a school project he was working on with someone called Jess.

Feeling that the damage between them caused by his sudden departure had been dealt with at least for now, Dean took out his earphones, found his favourite classic rock station, threw back his head, and closed his eyes. He imagined himself on stage in front of an enormous screaming audience, playing the guitar like a rock star and belting out tunes he grew up listening to as they blared from his father’s battered old stereo with a happy smile on his face.

He didn’t notice when he fell asleep.

He woke up with a start, his phone in his lap. He must have pulled out his earphones at some point. Dean brushed a hand across his mouth (thankfully he hadn’t been drooling too much) and looked through the windshield. The car had stopped in front of honest-to-god wrought-iron gates that were slowly opening to let them through.

“Nice digs,” said Dean.

“I’m glad you approve,” replied Castiel drily.

“Dude, what’s not to approve?” asked Dean, staring at a house that had just appeared around the corner.

He had only ever seen such places on TV. It was a startlingly white one-storey building with a flat roof and floor-length windows. There were columns at the front of the house and arches on either side of the main building. It was the type of house that usually had an enormous backyard with a gleaming green lawn and a swimming-pool.

The car stopped. The driver opened the doors for them before moving to open the trunk to get Castiel’s suitcase out. Dean grabbed his duffel bag and got out of the car. He waited impatiently until Castiel was giving parting instructions to the driver.

“Shall we?” asked the alpha as the car drove off.

Dean smirked. “Thought you’d never ask.”

Despite the heat, it was cool inside the house. It smelled of pinewood freshness with a slight tang of detergent in the air. Someone must have scrubbed the place clean before their arrival.

“I’ll show you to your room,” said Castiel, leading the way. “It’s right next to mine.”

A shiver ran down Dean’s spine at the hint of a promise in the alpha’s voice. He hurried after him, noting as he went gleaming surfaces of a modern kitchen (his mouth watered at the sight of the coffee machine) and homey coziness of the living area with rustic-looking rugs and potted plants.

His room was done in a mash of peach, terracotta, orange, and yellow colours. It was dominated by an enormous bed, which looked heavenly and seemed quite fitting, considering what he was there for. Though, now that he thought about it, he wouldn’t put it past the alpha to have a sex dungeon in the basement.

He wanted to crack a joke about it when Castiel said, “The kitchen should be well-stocked,” he said. “But if there’s something specific that you need, just put it on the list. There’s a notepad on the fridge. I’ll take care of it.”

Dean wondered if that’s what it felt like to have an alpha to take care of things for you. He flushed at the treacherous thought and reminded himself that it wasn’t real anyway. Just because he was an omega didn’t mean that he needed an alpha.

“D’you want me to cobble together some lunch?” he asked, throwing his duffel bag into an armchair next to the window.

“I wouldn’t mind, Dean. I’m sure you’re hungry too.”

“Hell yeah!”

Dean didn’t have any breakfast, because a) he was too nervous to eat and 2) he didn’t want to face an enraged Bobby in the small space of the old man’s kitchen.

“I’ll see you in the kitchen then,” said Castiel.

Dean watched him leave, frowning slightly. Why did it feel so… domestic? He felt like a goddamn mail-order bride rather than what he actually was. “I guess it’ll change once I’m ordered to kneel naked at his feet or something,” he thought grimly.

He was an omega, which for many still translated to a whore. A stereotype that many omegas, including himself, continued to perpetuate by hiring themselves out to rich alphas to be used for sex.

Dean shook himself off, quickly unpacked his bag and went back to the kitchen. There was no point thinking about something he couldn’t change. At least his alpha was hot enough to make him leak.

He found what he needed to make a couple of sandwiches with ham and cheese and a half dozen PB&J ones.

Castiel hadn’t been lying: the kitchen was definitely well-stocked. Dean checked the cupboards, the fridge, the freezer, and made a mental note of many other ingredients he’d come across during his exploration. Finally, he could broaden his culinary skills and try his hand at more complicated recipes. His eyes glowed as he thought about making all kinds of pies.

He had just finished setting the table when Castiel entered. He’d lost his shoes, jacket, and tie and rolled up his shirtsleeves. Dean thought that he looked hot with his bare forearms, thick and tanned. He swallowed as he imagined those arms manhandling him. His cock gave a cheerful twitch.

Castiel looked at the spread.

“Thank you, Dean. I haven’t had these in ages,” he said, pointing at the plate with PB&J sandwiches. “I loved them as a child.”

Dean looked pleased with himself. He poured them a glass of lemonade each.

“Tuck in, big boy,” he said with a smirk.

They ate their sandwiches in silence, sitting together at the spacious kitchen island. Funnily enough, the silence wasn’t uncomfortable. As soon as they were done, Dean collected their dishes, put them in the sink, and turned on the faucet.

“There’s a dishwasher for that,” pointed out Castiel.

Dean shrugged. “There’re just a couple of plates and glasses. I’ll be done in a few.” Then he remembered what he was there for and cursed himself. He looked around, raising an eyebrow. “Unless we’re in a hurry?”

Castiel shook his head, looking serene as he sat on a three-legged stool with his thick thighs wide open. “Not at all. We have two whole months before us.”

Dean hummed in response and began to wash the dishes. Though his back was turned to him, Dean just knew that Castiel was looking at him. He could feel his gaze on him like a physical thing, raising the hairs on the back of his neck and across his arms as though the alpha was running his fingers there, feather-like.

As expected, when he finished washing and drying the dishes and turned around, he found Castiel watching him.

“I gotta ask,” said Dean, crossing his arms on his chest as he leaned against the sink.

Castiel raised an eyebrow. “Hm?” He looked and sounded distracted. Dean couldn’t resist swaying his hips while washing the dishes. “Ask what?”

“I don’t get it. You’re rich. Easy on the eye. Young…ish. I’m sure omegas throw themselves at you wherever you go. So I gotta ask why you need to pay a shitload of money for something you can get for free?”

Castiel laughed. “Get for free?” He motioned for Dean to join him. “It’s simple really. I’m not interested in relationships of any kind or any duration. I’m not looking for a partner or a spouse or a mate or anything that might hint at an emotional entanglement.” He put his hands on Dean’s hips, smoothing his palms up and down his jean-clad thighs. “I’m not going to deny that omegas throw themselves at me.” He shrugged. “They know how powerful my family is, they know my position within the family, they know my worth, they know that I’m single. I live in a very small and very vicious world, Dean, where everyone knows everyone and omegas are as much for sale there as anywhere else. The only difference is that in my world they pretend that it isn’t so. But, at the end of the day, what they are really looking for is a good bargain.” He cupped Dean’s asscheeks, greedily kneading them, bringing him closer, forcing him into the space between his thighs. “Nothing’s free where I come from, Dean. At least in this way I know exactly what I’m paying for.”

“And that is... ?” asked Dean somewhat breathlessly, unconsciously rubbing himself against the inside of the alpha’s thigh.

Castiel bared his teeth. “Two months of unrestrained and uninhibited pleasures with a young pretty thing like you. Dean, you’re very tempting. I’ll enjoy ravishing you. Now… remind me, my curious little omega, what did I tell you about pleasuring yourself?”

The shift in his voice and in the mood around them happened so suddenly, Dean was caught completely off guard. Castiel pressed a hand against Dean’s crotch, halting his undulations.

“I shouldn’t pleasure myself without your permission,” replied Dean once Castiel’s question had finally penetrated through the pleasurable fog that clouded his mind.

“That’s right,” replied Castiel. “You really shouldn’t, Dean. In fact, you are expressly forbidden to do so.” His voice was deceptively soft but his fingers dug painfully into Dean’s flesh. “Which is why I have to ask what you think you’re doing rubbing against me with such obvious intent? Hm. I don’t recall giving you permission.”

Dean pouted. “But that’s not my fault, alpha,” he murmured, hoping that he sounded seductive. “You make me all hot and bothered.”

Castiel shook his head, looking regretful. “Dean… think again… ” Lighting-fast, he grabbed Dean around the neck. “Is this really the best answer you can give?”

Dean shivered. He knew how to play this game. He lowered his eyelashes in what he knew was a demure manner that drove some alphas bonkers (he’d watched enough alpha/omega porn to know how that should look) and, making sure that his lower lip trembled just right, said, “Forgive me, alpha. It won’t happen again.”

Castiel laughed, releasing his neck and slapping him across the face. “Oh, I think it will, Dean. I think it will. Unless, of course, we ensure that it doesn’t.”

Dean felt as though his body had been set on fire; his mouth flooded saliva. Castiel hooked his finger in the belt of his jeans and pulled them down so roughly Dean was surprised he hadn’t torn them apart. A wave of cool air hit his bare ass. The next moment he found himself twisted around and sprawled on Castie’s lap, the three-legged stool the alpha was sitting on creaking menacingly beneath their combined weight.

“Keep still,” commanded Castiel, grabbing hold of his neck and pressing him face down when Dean tried to squirm into a more dignified position.

Dean froze. Castiel placed a palm on top of his buttocks, languidly stroking them. Dean’s heart started hammering in his chest. He shuddered when a finger dipped into the crack between his asscheeks, moving upwards and downwards before circling and teasing his hole. Dean started leaking just as precome gathered on the tip of his trapped cock, staining his jeans where they were pressed almost painfully against his hard-on. He squeezed his eyes shut, breathing deeply through his nose, telling himself _“don’t come, don’t come, don’t come.”_

Castiel continued to play with his hole, pressing a finger into the tight ring of muscles only to withdraw it the next moment. Dean keened softly. His hungry hole was opening up for the alpha, greedily catching at his elusive finger, hoping for something much bigger to follow.

But what followed instead was a rapid succession of short sharp blows across his exposed backside. Dean felt as though an electric current had passed through him with the first painful touch. His eyes flew wide open. He jolted forward as his hands and legs scrambled for purchase.

“I thought I told you to keep still, Dean. This is your punishment. Remember?”

He had waited too long to answer and was rewarded with another series of blows: more rapid and more painful than before, making his cock unbearably hard.

“I believe I asked you a question, Dean.”

Dean nodded, biting his lower lip and grabbing the legs of the stool for support. “I remember,” he gritted out, writhing on the alpha’s lap as blow after blow made him harder and harder. He had no idea... He had never wanted to come so fucking quickly, so fucking hard. “Fuck, stop it!”

“I think you’re forgetting that I’m giving orders in this arrangement,” said Castiel as his iron palm continued to rain fire on Dean’s ass.

“Please, you have to stop, please,” pleaded Dean, gasping for breath; he was trembling, his cock was dripping, his ass was leaking, he was about to explode. “Fuck… I can’t… please... I’ll come if you don’t stop...”

Castiel didn’t stop. Dean sobbed. He couldn’t lie still anymore. He was writhing and twisting and jerking on the alpha’s lap as blow after blow brought him closer to what promised to be an explosive orgasm, rubbing his cock raw against his jeans… until he was heaving and gasping and coming… his ass on fire, his body wracked by violent tremors.


	6. Chapter 6

He was lying curled on the floor, praying for it to open up and swallow him, shaking with the aftershocks of his orgasm as much as with the shocking revelation that spanking could be such a huge turn-on for him.

Sure thing, he’d experimented with some sexy rules in the bedroom and dipped his toes into mild BDSM stuff with his beta girlfriends, but none of his experiments had ever been quite so explosive.

So it couldn’t have just been the fact that he enjoyed being spanked and humiliated a little bit too much. He could definitely blame at least some of his reaction on the alpha’s thrall that the fucker must have turned up again.

His heart was hammering in his chest; his body was drenched in sweat; his ass was burning and throbbing. 

“Dean,” said the alpha. “Get up.”

His voice was soft but firm.

Dean’s first instinct was to obey.

His second instinct was to tell him to fuck off.

He should have listened to his first instinct.

As soon as the words left Dean’s mouth, a hand grabbed him around the neck and, with surprising force, pulled him upwards into a standing position.

“Get your fucking hands off me!” screamed Dean, flailing his arms and legs, and glaring at the alpha. “Asshole!”

Castiel raised an eyebrow and released him. Dean fell backwards and sprawled on his back. “Ow… fuck… fuck… fuck!” His ass hurt like fucking hell.

“There will be little fucking involved if you don’t stop this ridiculous tantrum,” observed Castiel dispassionately.

He was looking down at Dean, one of his damn eyebrows still raised. His gaze shifted, allowing him to study the spot where Dean’s release had stained the front of his jeans.

It seemed physically impossible but Dean’s face had turned even redder under his scrutiny.

“Yes,” murmured the alpha, “I believe I’ll have to come up with some other manner of punishment for you.” He pressed his foot against Dean’s crotch. “You have quite enjoyed yourself, haven't you?”

“You think?!” snarled Dean, struggling between pressing his dick against the sole of the alpha’s boot and pushing him away.

“Take off your jeans,” said Castiel, removing his foot.

“No, thank you,” replied Dean sullenly.

“It wasn’t a request.”

There was something in his voice that made Dean grudgingly obey.

“Good boy,” said Castiel, patting his cheek when Dean was back on his feet, his jeans in his hands.

Dean bared his teeth but resisted the temptation to bite.

Castiel took Dean’s jeans from him without another word, walked towards the sink, opened the door of the cupboard underneath, and stuffed them in the trash bin inside.

Dean’s eyes widened. “Dude! What the fuck?!” he yelled. “That was my favourite pair!”

“Too bad, Dean. You won’t be wearing any clothes until you learn to control your urges,” replied Castiel calmly. “Don’t make me put you in diapers,” he warned, raising his voice when Dean opened his mouth to retort. 

The fuck?! He sure as hell didn’t sign up for that!

Dean was still gaping at him like a fish out of water when Castiel turned on his heels and left the kitchen. 

“Follow me, ” ordered the alpha and this time Dean instantly scrambled to obey, feeling stupid with nothing but his T-shirt on. He tugged it down in an attempt to cover his cock as he hurried after him.

Castiel took him to his room and told him to lie down on the bed. Silky sheets felt cool and soothing on his burning ass.

Castiel went into the bathroom and returned a few moments later with a bowl of warm water and a cloth that he used to clean Dean’s genitals with.

He was methodical, careful, thorough; it was clear that this part was not about sex but about taking care of his omega. That didn’t mean that Dean remained unaffected.

“Are you gonna fuck me now?” he asked, breathing heavily when the alpha pushed his legs apart to work the cloth into the crevice between his buttocks. Dean couldn’t help clenching and unclenching them.

He had never been fucked by an actual alpha before. He had never been fucked. Period. Though one of his girlfriends, the one who made him wear a pair of pink satiny panties he kept, had once pegged him.

“Fuck you?” asked the alpha as though the concept was entirely alien to him. “I don’t think so, Dean. Oh no. I hardly think you deserve such a treat after that abominable display in the kitchen. Look at yourself,” he said, shaking his head and withdrawing (with some difficulty) the cloth and the hand from between Dean’s legs. “Even now, after my reprimand, you keep trying to pleasure yourself by trapping my hand between your thighs without asking for my permission. It’s clear that you have no self-control at all.”

Castiel dropped the cloth into the bowl and went into the bathroom again.

Dean let his legs fall apart; it wasn’t difficult, considering their bow-shaped form, but it made him feel extra exposed with his bits shamelessly out. He scowled at the place where the alpha had stood.

“I didn’t realize that you were running a reformation school for omegas,” said Dean when Castiel re-entered the room with the same bowl in his hands. “I thought you hired me for sex,” he added almost petulantly; the alpha was driving him fucking nuts with his fucking pheromones and that fucking stick up his ass.

“I hired you for whatever I feel like,” corrected Castiel, stopping by the bed to hover over him. “I don’t have to remind you that you’ve signed a contract according to which you give me complete control over your body for the period of two months in exchange for a certain sum of money. I can do whatever I want with you whenever I want as long as there’s no lasting harm done. I also don’t have to explain myself to you, Dean. Turn over.”

Dean turned on his front and pressed his forehead against his crossed arms. He gasped when a warm cloth touched his buttocks before hissing. It began to sting and as a sharp smell reached his nostrils, Dean understood that Castiel had put some sort of disinfectant to work over welts his hand had left behind.

He gripped his forearms and dug his fingertips into his flesh, determined not to move an inch as water trickled down between his asscheeks. The alpha very slowly and meticulously worked over the abused behind before rubbing in some lotion.

“Looks like you can follow orders when you put your mind to it,” murmured a voice in his ear, making Dean jump.

“Don’t fucking sneak up on a guy like that!” he yelled.

The alpha chuckled. “I’ll be right back. Don’t change your position while I’m gone. Let the lotion work its magic.”

“I bet you just want to stare at my ass,” said Dean, trying to find some equilibrium by being his cheeky self in the situation he got himself into.

“I won’t deny that you’ve got the finest piece of ass I’ve ever had the pleasure to stare at,” replied Castiel.

Dean was sure that he was wearing a self-satisfied smirk.

“Wait till you see my nipples,” deadpanned Dean. “They’re extra perky.”

“Yes,” hummed the alpha, walking away, “I must say I’m looking forward to playing with them.”

Dean shivered in anticipation. He loved nipple-play.

He must have drifted off to sleep while waiting for the alpha to return, because he jerked awake when he felt feather-light touches across his buttocks.

“You may turn around.”

Dean yawned and returned to his original position, his torso modestly covered by his white tee, his legs spread open.

Castiel sat on the bed.

“Let me have a good look at you,” he muttered, running his fingers up and down the omega’s leg in a ticklish manner that Dean tried to ignore.

“Haven’t you had your fill yet?” he gritted out.

The alpha actually groaned. “Do you ever keep your mouth shut?” he asked in exasperation. “It’s like you don’t know what’s good for you.”

Dean raised an eyebrow. “Why don’t you gag me then?” he challenged.

Castiel smiled. “I might still do that – once I grow tired of your insolence – but right now I’m too curious to know what will come out of your mouth next.”

Dean smirked. “Well then shove your dick down my throat and see.”

“You’d love that, wouldn’t you?” asked Castiel, looking amused.

Dean let out a frustrated sigh. “What’s the point of asking me that if you’re not gonna give me what I want?”

“The point?” asked Castiel, now toying with the hem of Dean’s T-shirt. His hand constantly brushed against Dean's lower abdomen in such a way that made his muscles spasm. “The point, my disobedient omega, is to teach you some discipline first. Not to mention that you’re here to give me what I want – not the other way around.”

His hand casually slipped under the hem of Dean’s shirt and settled warmly on top of his stomach. Dean sucked in a breath and flattened his stomach, silently cursing his cock for showing that it was interested in what was going on. Dean knew that there was nothing casual about what the alpha was doing. He was deliberately teasing him with persistent yet barely there touches and provoking him to lose control over his urges again.

“So what is it that you want then?” he asked. “Just to stare at the merchandise?” Dean suddenly smirked. “Or maybe you’re stalling,” he said slowly, relishing every word leaving his grinning mouth, “because you can’t get it up? Is that it?” he sniggered. “That would explain why you don’t do relationships and why you make omegas you hire sign a non-disclosure clause thing. Your alpha dick doesn’t function properly, does it?”

Castiel smiled, baring his teeth. “Don’t you worry, Dean. My alpha dick – as you put it – functions perfectly fine,” he replied calmly, tracing an upward path along Dean’s smooth chest. “I assure you that very soon you’ll be able to see and test its functionality for yourself.”

“Good to know.”

Castiel simply nodded. “I’ve noticed that you’re bigger than most omegas I’ve hired before,” he said, withdrawing his hand and placing it on the inside of Dean’s thigh.

Dean frowned. “That doesn’t sound like a compliment,” he muttered.

“You’re quite right, Dean. It’s not a compliment. It’s an abomination.”

Dean spluttered. “Watch what you’re calling an abomination! I’ve never had any complaints before, thank you very much.”

“Traditionally, as I’m sure you know, omegas were valued for their small cocks and balls,” said Castiel, unperturbed. 

“Traditionalist crap!” yelled Dean. “For alphas so insecure about their own equipment they made sure their omegas were always smaller! Anything to boost up their feeling of superiority.”

“In the past young omegas would be permanently locked once they’d had their first heat,” continued Castiel as though there had been no interruption; “usually at the age of eleven or twelve, so that their cocks remained small, while certain bloodlines preferred to completely remove their omegas’ balls.”

Dean felt his own balls shrink in fear that washed over him like an ice-cold wave.

Castiel ran a finger along Dean’s cock. “It’s a pity that certain practices are now considered illegal.”

“Yeah?” croaked Dean, his heart thundering in his ears.

“Ten years ago I wouldn’t even need permission to modify your genitals to suit my preferences,” continued the alpha, musingly. “But nowadays there are all these committees that protect omegas and their rights from everything and everyone. Now they are actually allowed to choose for themselves.”

He fell silent as though such a concept was beyond wildest imagination.

Dean had finally found his voice. “And of course you don’t think that they can do that, right?” he asked with a sneer. “You don’t think that omegas know what’s good for them? That they are too stupid to figure it out for themselves without alphas telling them what they should like or look like?”

Castiel stared at him in mild surprise. Dean, on the other hand, was steaming. “I suppose you are one of those – ” the alpha made air quotes “ – progressive omegas who think otherwise.”

“Damn right I am!” bellowed Dean, sitting up in bed and tugging down his shirt until it completely covered his private parts. “Omegas have just as many rights or brains to have full control over their own bodies. We can very well decide for ourselves how big or small our dicks should be and whether we should have balls or not. We don’t need alphas’ ‘say so’ to tell us what to do or what to be. Newsflash, pal: omegas aren’t some mindless, obedient fucktoys created solely for alphas’ pleasure!”

Castiel raised an eyebrow. “Yet here you are, Dean, half-naked in the middle of an alpha’s bed, not so long ago begging to have your orifices stuffed with an alpha dick like a bitch in heat.”

Dean flushed but held his ground; such as it was. “It was my choice to be here,” he gritted out. “There’s a difference.”

“So you don’t deny that that’s exactly what you are?” asked the alpha.

“I can be whatever I want to be,” spat out Dean.

“Oh, I see what you mean.” Castiel nodded. “In other words, you don’t mind being a bitch or a whore as long as it is your own choice.”

Dean glared at him. “Yeah – well – you choose to be a giant dick!” he snarled.

“I thought they trained you out of such speeches at the Agency,” remarked the alpha, shaking his head as though Dean had disappointed him.

Dean didn’t bother telling him that he wasn’t employed there long enough to be taught out of anything.

“Anyway,” continued the alpha, getting to his feet and moving to the dresser opposite the bed, “as long as you’re here, Dean, you’re to be whatever I want you to be – you have chosen to agree to my terms by signing the contract I drew up – and, funnily enough, I want you to be my obedient fucktoy. Do you understand me?” 

Dean balled his hands into fists. “Yes,” he bit out.

“Yes...?”

“Yes, alpha.”

“That’s better.”

Castiel opened the bottom drawer and began to rummage inside. Dean was too wound-up to care what he was looking for there.

Despite Castiel’s calm exterior and soft voice, for the most part, there was a certain hardness about him that made Dean consider his behaviour around him. He’d already displayed his inflexible character earlier today when he wouldn’t relent and kept spanking Dean even though he could tell that Dean was going to come and disobey him whether he wanted to or not.

Dean suddenly understood with perfect clarity that he would have to be very careful around him, toeing the line and all that. Still, he hadn’t expected that the alpha’s views on omegas would be so outdated! He didn’t envy the omega Castiel would finally settle down with, that’s for sure.

Dean started when something landed with a clang next to him on the bed.

“A cock cage?” he asked, looking suspiciously at the metallic contraption.

“You look surprised,” said Castiel, cocking an eyebrow at him. “But we now know that you can’t control yourself. I figured that being locked up will, hopefully, help you with that.”

“I’ve never worn a cock cage before,” confessed Dean quietly.

“You astonish me. I would never have guessed.”

Dean flushed angrily and scowled at him. “Are you always such a dick?”

Castiel gave him a level look. “I’ll allow you to find that out for yourself. Get up, Dean. Let’s lock you up.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you liked the story so far, consider leaving a comment. Sometimes that's all that keeps the writer going...


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